


Mother Nation

by thatoneeccedentesiast



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Adopted Children, Child Death, Children, Colonization, Complete, F/M, Français | French, Gen, Nyotalia, Pirates, Plague, Princes & Princesses, RMS Titanic, Street Rats, Time Skips, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoneeccedentesiast/pseuds/thatoneeccedentesiast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fem!England has played mother and big sister to many children over her long life, here are just a few of their stories</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother Nation

The first time England picked a child up and called it hers was during the black plague. She, barely into her womanhood, was suffering quite greatly herself from the affects of the disease and the ravages it was having on her country's population; but even so, nothing could keep her within the walls of her king's home. Her people's very souls  _cried_ to her, begged for her to come and sooth their aches, wet their parched lips and to clean their dirty faces.

But never before had she felt so helpless as she walked yet another decimated hamlet. There were dead corpses rotting outside of homes and a man with a hacking cough was doing his best to clean up the bodies that fell within the immediate footpaths of the village. Tears on her cheeks, she paid no mind. Her poor  _children_. They were dying right before her very eyes!

Oh, oh, oh  _lord_. Save their souls!

Wailing of infants and little children could be heard among the noises of the sick and it gave England something to marvel at. Somehow, despite all the death, life still struggled to find its way into this hard world. It was heartening to know how tenacious her people were, it was a balm that took a bit of the sting from the gaping wound that she knew was on her very essence.

Suddenly, the young woman felt something snag her skirt. Looking down, she saw it was a toddler; a boy she decided after a moment of staring at his sunken features. Crouching despite how much stronger the smell of rotting corpses, urine and feces became, England smiled at her little countryman.

"Greetings young sir," she whispered.

Dark-rimmed eyes glassy, he opened his mouth and managed to choke "Miss, my mummy, she's-she's-"

"Oh child," England tittered as she brought his frail form into her arms. "Oh my lamb."

His small fingers were pulling her bodice tight with his surprisingly strong grip. "My da an' sister an' brothers too, miss. All of 'em."

"It appears you need a new family - a new mother," she commented to him.

His tired eyes glowed and England stood up, sweeping his emaciated form easily up along with her. "I shall take you home," she told the child. "You will be my son now."

"Thank you miss..." he sighed, letting his eyes droop close with exhaustion.

England took him home, washed him, clothed him, fed him.

In turn, he gave her his name. Warren.

She told him he now was England's son.

Warren, unlike so many, survived the ravages of the plague and grew up to be England's closest servant and confidant - and he would stay as such well into his twilight.

And when he died, she wept for him and promised "someday my son, someday I will see you in Heaven's light and we will embrace once more!"

That day, England swore she would never pick another child from her lands and call it her son or daughter. It hurt to see their life end far too much.

* * *

England managed to keep this promise to herself for almost two hundred years, but then, her king's  _daughter_ needed her. Truth be told, England hadn't been so much a mother in that instance as she had been a sister. A confidant and friend for an increasingly isolated young woman. The poor girl, Mary, was very troubled with the rockiness of her parents relationship and that did little in helping her already ill-health.

Sometimes, especially during  _that_ time of the month, young Mary could barely leave her bed without doubling over. It was during times like those that England took special care to come and see the young Lady. She'd help the young woman sit up and then crawl into the bed beside her to brush and braid her hair.

"How are you my Lady?" She would ask her.

The teenager would straighten up as well as her pains would allow her and say "I am fairing as well as I can be expected, my dear England."

She knew that meant she was in pain and it hurt England to know how poorly her King's daughter was. So, she'd often hug the young woman and say "Things will get better my Lady. I swear to you."

In response, the girl tilted her head back so she could give her nation an upside down smile and said, "I believe you."

And believe she did. She bided her time and toward the end of her father's life she was once again looked upon favorably by him and was leading a relatively pleasant existence.

When she became queen, England could not have been more happy. It was truly pleasing to see one of her people succeed so fully. Unfortunately for all, Mary's rule was a rocky thing and was full of more strife than the woman deserved and when she died, England mourned for her stronger than most.

How swift and bitter her life had been. Her legacy was an unsuccessful reign and her persona reviled and mocked by the Protestants of her nation.

* * *

She felt a hand in her pocket. Twisting around, England grabbed the arm attached to the hand and was unsurprised to see it was one of the many urchins who hung around the docks. He was a scrappy looking boy, with an underbite that showed through even with his mouth closed. England smiled and knelt down.

"You know, I could hand you over to the authorities and let them do with you what they will."

He glared. "'m not scared of no police!"

England laughed and took the hat off her head and put it on his. "I do not doubt you lad!" She told him. "In fact..." she trailed off, "I bet you've been in a couple scrapes with them already given how poor a pocket-picker you are!"

One of his small hands touching the rim of the hat that now rested on his head, he grumbled "What're you gonna do lady?"

"I need a cabin boy," England imparted to the child. "Would you like to be one?"

His eyes went wide and she took in the fleck of turquoise among the blue of his iris and felt herself fall for this young, filthy child.

"You mean that lady?" He demanded in a very distrusting manner.

"Oh yes," England agreed. Leaning in, she sent a glance this way and that and murmured; "You could be more than my cabin boy, if you like."

He was looking more excited now. A true child beneath all that filth. "What would that be?"

"Would you like a family? A big sister or Aunt perhaps?" She inquired.

He couldn't contain himself as he threw his arms around her neck. "Sister! I love you sister!"

"I love you too, my brother," she sighed into the boy's dirty nape as she patted his skeletal back.

Pulling away, his eyes were liquid as he hiccuped. "I never thought I'd get anybody who'd wanna be my family 'gain!"

"Well I want you. England wants you."

He gave her a curiouser stare then and England straightened up - keeping the boy in her reach as she walked them toward her ship explaining just who and  _what_ she was.

After cleaning him up and showing him the ropes of a pirate's ship, James turned out to be a perfect cabin boy and with time, crewman and by the time he was in his twentieth or twenty-first year, he was her second mate.

That was also the year he kissed her on the lips and said he loved her more than just as a brother. At first, England did not know how to feel about the little boy she'd called her brother loving her as a woman, but in time she came to care for him just the same.

He wasn't a little boy - he hadn't even been one a decade and a half ago when she plucked him from the street and made him her cabin boy. It was late, late one night several days after his confession that she went to him and embraced him as men and women who are in love do.

Never had she had a sweeter lover and it was all the more painful when he was wrenched from her in his prime in a storm when he fell overboard.

The boy she raised and loved as a man was gone and she could no longer be a pirate when the life had killed the very best of her men.

* * *

Making America her colony had been a true blessing at first. He had been a sweet boy and unlike the other children she had loved and mourned for, she knew this one was not so fragile, he would not die so swiftly and England envisioned years upon years where she would be able to love him and lavish him with her affections.

When she began to take in the other children, Canada, Australia, Hong Kong and Seychelles; it felt like her heart had swelled into something moon-sized. She loved them all with the devotion of a mother even as she asked them to call her "big sister". The thought that someday one of these little darlings could be taken from her or leave her made her cautious enough to keep them from calling her that taboo name England had only had one small falsetto ever call her.

Of course, even with this guarding of her heart, it did not stop it from being shattered into a trillion little shards when her beautiful, sunny, stubborn,  _annoying_ little brother America decided he did not need her. He had been so big that rainy day, tall and a  _man_ ; briefly, she wondered if he would be like James.

But then she remembered the days when he was still in a toddler's gown and had needed her help to bath and cut up his food and clean up his bed after he had an accident. She would never,  _ever_ , change her feelings toward him. He was the sweet little boy in her mind's eye when she dropped her gun and told him she couldn't do it.

He had won.

England was a sister in mourning once again.

* * *

Her nation had been abuzz for weeks about the unsinkable ship heading for America and at her brothers' prompting, England put aside her work and agreed to take a little trip on the luxury ship. It was called the Titanic and they said it was unsinkable. England was skeptic of such a claim, but it also made her grin. How ingenious her people were! To make a ship that could boast such a possibility!

The trip at first went quite well, it was a pretty ship and the company was quite pleasant - as was the dining. It seemed like the trip was going to be just what England needed to relax when-

The ship lurched and soon enough, people were running and yelling and crying and they were being told to get on the life boats. Numb and very disappointed as she realized the small boats simply couldn't be expected to hold all of those who boarded the Titanic in England, she considered giving her spot up. She should be alright if she had to swim in the water for a few hours...

But before England could give up her spot, a child's shrill filled the air and she saw a little girl struggling in the dark waves to keep her tiny head above water. Eyes going wide she all but threw herself from the ship to grab her.

"What are you doing!?" One of the men shouted at her as he tried to hold her back.

Fighting him, England howled "That's my sister! That's my sister!"

With that lie told, they maneuvered their boat so she could scoop the slowly drowning child from the sea. In her arms, the girl - who truly couldn't be older than five or six - breathed laboriously and England took her coat off and wrapped the girl in it.

"Mama..." she whimpered in her arms.

Rocking her, England soothed her with gentle shushes. "Hush my little sister, hush my sister..."

When they got to America, England attempted to find a mother or father that may have belonged to the little girl - but it was impossible. No one claimed her and so instead, she found herself saddled with another set of big eyes in need of care.

"You can stay with me," she told the little girl then. "I'll be your big sister from now on."

The child, pale and coughing, had smiled a gaped tooth grin and hugged her around the thighs. "Thank ye sister England."

Patting the head of frizzy red, England had whispered "It is my pleasure my little Lana."

A few days later, the cough worsened, a week more, the little girl she'd plucked from the unforgiving seas was dead and in need of burial.

America showed up for her funeral.

"She's in a better place."

England had refused to look at him and instead whispered "A better place you say? She was  _mine_. My little sister! How dare you, Alfred, how dare you."

The young man made her turn around then and stare into his confused eyes. "Your  _sister_? She was an orphaned kid from the titanic!"

"It doesn't matter, I loved her and I would have raised her."

He shook his head at her and let her go. "You love too quick," he told her.

England couldn't disagree.

* * *

She could have stayed home. She didn't have to leave her beautiful island if she hadn't wanted to. Churchill had  _told_ her that a hundred times over as she prepared for departure to the front lines...but, how could she? How could England sit back and let her men wage war on foreign soil without her their in solidarity? England just  _couldn't_. It wasn't in her. No matter how many people pleaded with her to stay in England and stay safe. _  
_

It was toward the end of the war when her troops were making their way through France and liberating cities as they went that they came to Lille, one of the harder hit cities. There weren't too many people at the time in the city, given that so many had fled previously, but as she wandered the pock-marked and crater filled streets that England spied a sight.

A boy of eight or nine, without shoes walking among the rubble.

" _Bonjour_!" She'd yelled out.

He'd froze and narrowed his eyes into nothing but slits beneath the fringe of his bangs. Doing her best not to laugh at his suspicion, she called to him in halting French:

" _O_ _ù est votre maman_ *?"

He shook his head.

England crinkled her nose and asked " _Papa_?"

" _Dead_." He told her in accented English. " _Maman, papa, et mes frères._ "

She had clucked her tongue and murmured to herself. "Oh dear...that won't do." Turning back to him, she took out her ration of chocolate and waved it at him. " _Viens avec moi,_ " She said to him. " _Je serai ta grande_ _soeur._ "

He all but ran to her then, completely ignoring the treat she offered him favor of hugging England. "Thank you! Thank you!" He whimpered in English.

Patting his head, England already began to go through the paperwork she knew she'd have to fill out to bring this little boy home with her.

A month later, she had him nicely set up in one of her many bedrooms in her country home and for a couple years they lived quite happily together there - even as the work of putting their world back together again called her away again and again - Jean never seemed to mind. He was always smiling when she came home and hugged her and said he loved her in that unabashed boyish way.

When he was old enough, she arranged for him to go to boarding school in England and then sent him to Switzerland when he asked a year later. When he was grown, Jean made a point of visiting her whenever he could.

He was a successful accountant in France and she was happy for him and as the years passed, he first brought to her his fiance and then his children and eventually his grandchildren. England adored them all the same as she adored Jean.

He was quite old now and he lived with his youngest daughter and her family in France. England made the extra effort to check up on him often and visit at least once a month; the days of her little brother were getting shorter and she didn't want to have regrets when the time came that the reaper took his soul.

She loved him as dearly as she'd love any of her brothers and sisters over the years, but she was beginning to understand that their passings weren't so terrible. They were the cycle of things and someday, if she tired her hardest, she knew she'd see them again and they would all laugh and smile and  _be_.

* * *

Cleaning up the mess of runners, a jacket, dirt and a yo-yo that Sealand has left behind in her living room, England finds herself rolling her eyes. How were little boys so messy! Grumbling to herself as she righted her room, she shouted

"Peter!"

A few seconds later, the boy appeared with food in his mouth and asked around said food "what?"

Shaking her head, England put a hand on her hips and said "Clean this up you little prat!"

"You suck!" The boy whined as he proceeded to pick up his stuff to put away.

Smirking as he walked by, England knew even though Sealand had to be the most nerve-grating boy she'd ever called a brother, that she loved him.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> *I don't know French and used google translate (I know, how awful of me,) so if a person who does know French wants to, please correct any errors you see!
> 
> French Translations:
> 
> Où est votre maman? - Where is your mom?
> 
> Maman, papa, et mes frères - Mom, dad and my brothers
> 
> Viens avec moi - Come with me
> 
> Je serai ta grande soeur - I will be your big sister
> 
> Thank you for reading and pretty please comment!


End file.
